Ache
by cerebel
Summary: If Gaeta is ice, they can’t hurt him. If he does his job, they can’t criticize him. If they can’t see him, they can’t hate him. Cold, efficient, invisible – it’s the way he wants to be.


The door clangs shut at the top of CIC, and something goes dark and quiet inside Gaeta's head. He glances up briefly to the top of the stairs—

_Frack!_ It's Tigh, in his full one-eyed Cyclopean glory. Gaeta grips the edge of the central display, nausea and terror ripping through him like guns through a Cylon raider. Just as quickly, they disappear; Gaeta breathes, he straightens up.

"You okay?" Dualla asks lowly.

"Yeah," Gaeta says, as the applause begins.

—"Welcome back, sir!"—"Good to see you, sir"—

Gaeta doesn't applaud. He slips around the far edge of the desk, escapes their attention. Even Dualla doesn't seem to notice. There's a trick to it, a way of playing the light around you so you fade, just fade away, become part of the scenery. Good, reliable Gaeta; he's always there, but never noticed.

He's been using the trick all his life; but, he mastered it in the office of the President on New Caprica.

"Get back to work!" Tigh calls to the crew. The applause fades, and Tigh's foot touches the bottom level of CIC.

—_in Gaeta's face, right in front of him; "Do you know where my eye is?" Tigh shouts—_

Gaeta inhales sharply. Dualla is watching him, waiting for an answer to a question she's just asked.

Gaeta's mind spins. "I think the problem is in the connection," Gaeta stabs.

Dualla looks surprised. _Frack_, Gaeta thinks. Was it the wrong question? _Had she asked something about Tigh_?

"Really?" Dualla asks. "I thought for sure it was in the sensor itself."

Gaeta thanks the gods. "No," Gaeta corrects, back in familiar territory. He turns his back on Tigh, and begins to explain.

----

It's been weeks since the almost-execution, and Gaeta still can't look any of them in the eye. He knows they believed his guilt; he knows their reasons, their causes, their little list of 'evidence' against him. He knows, intellectually, why they did what they did.

Even so, all he can remember is the flash of light as they pulled the bag off his head, and the certainty that he was about to die.

It's like he's coming apart at the seams. His life, his honor, everything – it's running away from him, in opposite directions, scattered, confused. He wishes he believed everyone was on the same side, but inside he knows they aren't. Not so long as he was part of "Baltar's faction", and Tigh was part of the insurgency.

And Gaeta is surprised, distantly surprised at how easy it is to get a hold of his feelings, grab them in his hands, twist them, and push them away into the back of his mind, where he doesn't think of them, sometimes for days at a time.

If he's ice, they can't hurt him. If he does his job, they can't criticize him. If they can't see him, they can't hate him.

Cold; efficient; invisible – it's the way he wants to be.

----

Later, Gaeta eats, in the mess hall. He's not always alone anymore – Tyrol sometimes sits with him, Dualla maybe, some of the crew members who never went to New Caprica – but honestly, he prefers it this way. He can just think about the act of eating (he's never hungry anymore), and he can get done quickly, and escape into some semi-deserted storeroom and do some meaningless menial task of organization.

A shadow falls over him, and Gaeta looks up.

Tigh. It's Tigh. Gaeta's throat tightens, and his hand grips the fork.

The XO sits down across from him.

"Lieutenant," Tigh starts, and Gaeta can't look at him. "Lieutenant," and it's firmer this time, "About what happened, in the launch tube."

And the world is suddenly too tight for the both of them. "I'm sorry, sir," Gaeta blurts, "I have to go," and he drops his fork with a clatter on his tray and escapes.

----

Gaeta eats the same amount as he used to (mechanically, sure), but he makes up for it by not sleeping.

He'll stay out, roaming the corridors, for hours after he's supposed to start his sleep cycle. Finally, when he does climb into his rack, he'll just lie there, staring at the bunk above him. He'll breathe evenly and deeply, and he'll close his eyes sometimes, but the darkness is such that it doesn't seem to matter whether his eyes are closed or open.

Eventually, he'll slip into unconsciousness, for a few hours of nightmarish memories. Of Gaius Baltar, slipping into decay, long before the Cylons ever landed on New Caprica. Of the look in the crowd's eye as masses of Centurions paraded down the center of the city. Of the way the Cylons surrounded and manipulated Baltar; of the way Tyrol begged for Gaeta's help finding Cally, when Gaeta knew he was already working as hard as he could, and that if he told Tyrol so his life could be over in an instant.

Time after time, again and again, it'll end with Tigh punching the control to open the airlock; with Gaeta flung out into space.

He wakes gasping for air, sometimes hours before he has to begin his duty shift, and he can never return to sleep.

----

It's during the night, again, and in a futile effort to tire himself, Gaeta is working on repairing a power conduit in the wall. It's unnecessary; power has been rerouted through the hallway on the far side of the ship for weeks, and the engineers judged this one 'totally fracked'. They won't be working on it anytime soon, and it's perfect for Gaeta.

A spark leaps off one of the components and stabs into his hand.

"Frack," Gaeta curses.

"Isn't it your sleep cycle, Lieutenant?" and Gaeta freezes.

He looks up. Tigh. Tigh, Tigh, Tigh, it's _always _Tigh. "It is, sir," Gaeta says neutrally.

"Then why aren't you in your rack?" Tigh asks, a rough edge to his voice, as always.

Another spark sizzles into the ruined power conduit. Gaeta reaches back, and finally he's cleared enough debris to hit the shutoff switch.

"And shouldn't the Chief's men be repairing that?" Tigh continues.

"They're busy," Gaeta returns. He stands, moves to leave – but Tigh is right in his way.

"Stay," Tigh tells him.

"I need another tool from the shop," says Gaeta. Any excuse to get out of here.

"Do I have to make it an order?" Tigh asks him, steely.

Gaeta steps back, crosses his arms. He waits for Tigh to say his piece.

"I'm sorry," Tigh says.

Gaeta's jaw goes slack. He can't believe it. "For what?" he asks bitterly. "For almost killing me or for accusing me of being a Cylon collaborator?" The words are nasty. They're meant to hurt – _hurt him so he can't hurt me_ – and when Tigh's eye goes dark with anger, Gaeta knows he's done it.

"Do you know what it was like," Tigh bites out, "living there, every day, and watching you and President Baltar shack up in Colonial One, have tea parties with the Cylons?"

"Do _you_ know what it was like," Gaeta snaps back, "being afraid for your life every day, from not just Cylons, oh no, but from _suicide bombers_? From your _own people_?"

"You could have," Tigh begins—

"I could have _what_?" Gaeta's yelling now, but he doesn't care. "Joined the Insurgency? Gotten picked up and executed by the Cylons in ten minutes flat?"

Oh no, oh no, oh _frack_, and the emotions are welling right back up. Everything inside Gaeta tears apart, so slowly that he can feel every give, every stab like it's new. The fear, the desperation – and Gaeta channels it all into anger, anger is safe and clean and it means you're not a victim anymore—

"Gaeta," Tigh begins again—

"_No_," says Gaeta, "No. You, I _helped_ you, I did all that I knew how, and I was completely alone, and _you nearly killed me for it_!"

"I'm sorry," says Tigh, and Gaeta can see the sorrow in his eyes. But, frack, he doesn't _want _sorrow! Why won't Tigh fight back?

Gaeta digs the knife deeper. "How many people did you kill?" he asks hysterically. "How many of them, alone and in the dark, did you _murder_ before you thought that maybe—…" and Tigh pulls Gaeta in and kisses him.

Gaeta doesn't fight, mostly because of the complete unexpectedness of the gesture. He doesn't fight, and Tigh holds Gaeta loosely in his arms, and Tigh's tongue slips into Gaeta's mouth.

Something curls up inside Gaeta's stomach, and the tearing pain inside him stops, and it's replaced by a distant ache, the way a wound hurts after it's bandaged.

Finally, Tigh pulls away, and Gaeta realizes he's crying.

"Stay away from me," Gaeta whispers, and he turns away, gets past Tigh, out the corridor. He can't explain why every footstep, to his ears, sounds like the thunk of an airlock door preparing to open.

----

That morning, Gaeta doesn't wake up gasping for air, as he usually does, but in some kind of uncontrollable grief, water running down his cheeks and soaking his pillow.

It's some minutes before he can pull himself together enough to begin the day, and even then he knows that he looks much worse than usual.

He can tell especially when Dualla approaches him in the bridge.

"Is everything okay?" she questions.

"Yeah," and Gaeta smiles an easy smile. "Just a little tired." The excuse is a reflex, completely automatic. He doesn't have to think about it anymore.

"You know you can talk to me if you need to," she offers.

"Yeah," Gaeta says, "I know."

----

Later that night, Gaeta is taking inventory. He counts boxes and crates, records them on a piece of paper, and moves on to the next aisle. It's clean, it's simple. He doesn't have to think about the work; but it occupies enough of his attention that he doesn't have to think about anything else.

And he hears the door open and clang shut behind him.

Gaeta doesn't turn. It's probably someone requisitioning an item from the inventory. He'll make sure they check it out before they leave; beyond that, if they don't speak to him, their presence doesn't bother him.

"Seems like you're doing someone else's job again."

Gaeta's hand clenches on the pencil, like it did on the fork a few days ago.

"I told you to stay away from me." Gaeta tosses off the remark without emotion, without rancor, with a blasé unconcern. He unclenches his hand, and makes a mark on the paper.

"And?" Tigh asks. Gaeta glances up. Tigh has somehow managed to get within bare feet of him without setting off Gaeta's internal alarms.

"And what do you _want _from me?" Gaeta explodes. "You keep following me around, what am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe that I'm an XO looking out for the crew's welfare." Tigh's eye regards him steadily, measuring his reactions.

Gaeta sees, in that eye, the worst part, what he hoped he would never see. Tigh wanted him. Tigh _wanted _him, and Gaeta just doesn't know how he feels about that.

Tigh's hand reaches out, to touch Gaeta's face, maybe, but Gaeta doesn't let it get that far. He catches Tigh's wrist. "I'm not Helen," he bites out.

"You don't say," Tigh returns. Tigh twists his hand, touches Gaeta's palm, so that suddenly Gaeta isn't keeping Tigh away, but Tigh is keeping Gaeta close.

"Don't do this," and Gaeta is distantly surprised by how broken his voice sounds. "I can't give you what you want."

"Hmm?" asks Tigh. "What is it that I want?" And all the while, Tigh is pulling Gaeta closer, and their faces are inches apart.

"Forgiveness," Gaeta breathes, and they're kissing. Gaeta molds, just fits into Tigh's grasp, and he thinks that this can't possibly be happening. Tigh, he's older, much older, and they can't, it's infeasible, and Gaeta realizes it's ridiculous that he's actually searching, searching inside his mind for concrete reasons this can't work.

Gaeta pulls away, and he's crying again, he just can't help it. "I can't," he gasps, "I can't forgive you. I can't," but Tigh is kissing him again, tongues touching and there's something clean about it. Cleaner than trying to forget what happened down on New Caprica, at least; cleaner than thinking about Baltar and about suicide bombers.

Then Tigh's just holding him. Comfort, and right when it becomes too much for Gaeta to stand, Tigh steps back.

"Think about it," Tigh says, and his footsteps fall, one by one, until the door opens and shuts again, leaving Gaeta alone.

Gaeta slides to the floor, like someone has put a tap in his feet and all of his energy has just drained out of him. He sits there, just staring at the opposite wall, and inside him there's screaming. Tigh has broken loose the floodgates, and now all it seems Gaeta can do is wait and watch while all of his demons run loose through his mind.

After months, years maybe, Gaeta gets unsteadily to his feet.

He goes straight to sickbay, where Doc Cottle is making some notes on a clipboard.

"Lieutenant," Cottle greets.

"I can't sleep," blurts Gaeta. "I haven't, more than one or two hours, since we left New Caprica."

Cottle regards him. "You've been keeping track?" Cottle asks. At Gaeta's look, he adds, "many people believe they sleep more than they actually do."

"I know," Gaeta says.

When Cottle examines him, he's convinced. Slight fluctuations in brain waves, muscle trembling. He puts Gaeta on a bed, hooks him up to an IV, and says, "You might be out for a while." There's a slight pause. "And I'm taking you off duty."

"No," Gaeta objects. "I can't-"

"No no's about it," Cottle returns.

He pulls a curtain around Gaeta, and that's the last thing Gaeta remembers.

----

When he climbs back into consciousness, it isn't because of a dream. Gaeta feels a stiffness in his arms and legs, but a coil of relaxation all down his spine.

His monitor beeps, and Cottle is suddenly by the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Cottle asks, and Gaeta blinks.

"Um," Gaeta says, "tired."

"Good," Cottle says, pulling out the IV. "It's almost the beginning of your sleep cycle."

Gaeta's eyes widen. "How long have I been asleep?" he asks.

"Almost twenty hours," Cottle says. "You'll fall asleep again in another couple," continues Cottle. "You should get to your rack."

And Gaeta can't deny it. He feels better. He doesn't feel like he can take on his emotions and win, but at least he could go a few more rounds without having them detonate inside him.

"Do you need to talk to anyone?" Cottle's voice is all concern.

"No," Gaeta responds automatically. And then realization dawns, inside his chest. "I have someone to talk to."

----

The metal is rough against Gaeta's knuckles as he knocks on the door to Tigh's quarters.

"Come," calls the voice from inside, and Gaeta's hands shake as he opens the door.

Tigh is surprised to see Gaeta. "Lieutenant," he says, but then stops.

Gaeta sees a glass of clear liquid on Tigh's desk. "Is that," he begins—

"It's water," Tigh says quickly. An awkward pause. "Are you feeling better?"

Gaeta nods.

Suddenly, the deck pitches, like Galactica has collided with another ship, and Tigh is right there, by Gaeta's side, holding him up. "Easy," Tigh murmurs in his ear.

Gaeta doesn't understand the horrible tightness inside him.

Tigh eases Gaeta into a sitting position, on the edge of Tigh's bunk. Tigh sits next to him. "Are you all right?" Tigh asks.

"No," says Gaeta, and he tilts his head upwards and kisses Tigh.

Tigh's response is delayed a few seconds, because of shock or surprise, maybe. He pulls Gaeta partially on top of him, a thigh between Gaeta's legs, and digs into Gaeta's mouth. Gaeta groans, pathetically, and clutches Tigh's waist like he's about to fall.

And apparently the 'older' part has left Tigh very gifted, orally, because every sweep of his tongue is making Gaeta dizzy. He can't tell which way is up, and he can't remember why he would need to know.

Gaeta lets himself be flipped. He lets Tigh settle over him, pressing together in too many places and not enough places at the same time, and he understands.

He gets that Tigh isn't just seeking a warm body after Ellen's death. He's trying, desperately trying, to take control of his destiny, the same way Gaeta is. Tigh has been as much a victim of circumstance as Gaeta; in pursuing Gaeta, maybe Tigh could fix himself a little too.

Tigh pulls off Gaeta's shirt, and Gaeta lets him, praying, _praying _to the gods that Tigh won't let Gaeta get close and then hurt him some more.

Later, when Tigh pushes inside him, Gaeta muffles a shriek into Tigh's shoulder, still hiding his face from Tigh's view. "Felix," he hears Tigh growl, and he can't reply; he's dissolving under Tigh, Tigh is destroying everything he's built.

Inside him, the hard veneer cracks, and something beautifully dizzying shines through.

----

It's dark, now, and the ache inside Gaeta (physical and emotional) is distant. So distant, he can almost forget about it.

His head propped on his arm, he watches Tigh sleep, and his mind is completely blank. He can't wonder if this was right, he can't think about what he's going to do on duty tomorrow or whether he's going to talk to one of the Galactica's counselors.

Most importantly, he can't remember New Caprica.

Eventually, Gaeta rests his head on Tigh's chest. In minutes, he's asleep.


End file.
